For You
by wordsmithsonian
Summary: Ron is determined to make Hermione's 20th birthday one to remember.   R/Hr. Rating for sex and language.
1. Chapter 1

_This fic is for the amazingly wonderful urbanmama1, written for her charity fic event._

_I hope you enjoy it, lovely!_

_I'm not J.K. Rowling and I own nothing Harry Potter._

_Special huggly thanks to my sweet Beta, tristelamar_23, who was a massive help through the entire process of writing this fic, as well as providing the title!_

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Perfection.

It was a concept almost entirely foreign to him, always managing to escape his grasp just as he really reached for it. But this time…this time he would manage. For her.

Perfection was a concept near and dear to Hermione's heart, after all. It was practically status fucking quo for her, wasn't it? So it was only reasonable for him to hope that he could pull it off for just one day out of the entire year, right?

Right.

He nodded sharply to himself as he crossed the alley behind the shop, stomping up the back stairs with his hands in his pockets.

"Oi, where've you been, then? The inventory-"

"Finished the inventory, George. I'm takin' myself off now, actually."

He grabbed his jacket from the hook, throwing it around his shoulders as he retrieved his rucksack from beneath the counter, making a beeline for the door with George following close behind.

"And just who gave you permission to skive off early?"

Ron flashed a smile at his brother as he yanked the door open.

"I'm just taking the initiative, like you told me to, remember?"

The door slammed on George's reply as Ron ran down the front steps and hurried along Diagon Alley, his footsteps leading him to a small, unobtrusive store down a narrow alleyway. The modest sign above the door read "Plimsky's" in elegant gold script. It was a store he had passed by many times without ever noticing, until just over a month ago when he had wandered in out of desperation.

Jewelry was easily found in Diagon Alley. Magical amulets, ancient torques, rings heavily carved with runes and symbols. One had to be mindful of curses and enchantments when buying such items, though.

Something Ron was not prepared to tackle on top of everything else.

So when he had found the simple, ornamental offerings of Plimsky's, he had been relieved and overjoyed. Finally, a store filled with nothing more than precious metals and stones, nothing goblin-made or likely to turn one's beloved into a slimy eel.

The elderly man behind the counter didn't glance up at the chime of the bell over the door. His fuzzy white head was bent over a large red stone, some sort of cylindrical device held to his right eye while the other was kept screwed tightly shut. Ron waited patiently for a moment, rocking back on his heels as he looked around at the glass cases filled sparingly with assorted rings, necklaces, and other bits of jewelry. He had learned from experience that Mr. Plimsky worked on his own schedule, and any interruptions were not taken in the best of humor.

It did not even take a full minute for the man to lower his device, dropping the stone into a blue velvet pouch and stashing it somewhere behind the counter. He still did not look at Ron, instead turning to rummage in the wall of tiny drawers behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. Your commission has been completed, would you care to inspect it now?"

Ron rushed forward eagerly, fidgeting nervously before the counter as Mr. Plimsky shut the final drawer, emerging with a slender box of polished rosewood, painstakingly carved in a pattern of scrolling leaves and vines.

He set the box on the counter before looking up at Ron expectantly, bushy white eyebrows twitching impatiently over small rectangular spectacles.

Ron felt unaccountably nervous reaching for the box. He knew what was inside, after all, he had commissioned the damn thing weeks ago. He just felt so… it just _had_ to be perfect.

He had considered several options before deciding on this design. A beautiful gold comb had caught his eye, decorated with a semi-circle of glittering gemstones. It would have been lovely nestled in Hermione's hair, winking out at him like the sun from behind fluffy clouds. Unfortunately, his witch was still a bit too sensitive about her wild curls, so he had handed it back to Mr. Plimsky with a sigh. There were a few rings he had mulled over, but the implications of such a gift were simply too heavy. He knew that he would be choosing a ring for her sometime soon, once all of this madness with Auror training was behind him, and he didn't want to dampen the impact of that momentous occasion with a more casual gift. So, rings had been right out. Mr. Plimsky had patiently offered a variety of necklaces, each one prettier than the last, but the wound of Tom Riddle's locket was still too fresh in Ron's heart. He had refused every pendant, even the filigree unicorn with sapphire eyes and a spiral carved opal horn.

After nearly two hours spent going over every item in the store he could possibly afford, Mr. Plimsky had folded his hands together atop the glass counter, eyeing Ron appraisingly with odd golden eyes, startlingly sharp and young in his weathered face.

"I have an idea, young man. Why don't you just tell me precisely what you are looking for?"

Ron had scratched his head, slightly embarrassed.

"I-well, sir, the thing is that I'm not sure, exactly."

Mr. Plimsky had nodded in understanding.

"I see. Well, then, let us suppose that you could tell me a few things you are sure of, and we can start from there."

Ron had racked his brain, trying to put into words his yearning for something beautiful and worthy and, and _perfect_, for his love who deserved all of these things and more.

The moment he opened his mouth, however, Mr. Plimsky had started in.

"Why don't you just tell me more about this young lady of yours?"

That had been easy enough. Ron always found it difficult to talk about himself, but when it came to Hermione, there was just so much to say, wasn't there? She was brilliant and gorgeous and fiery and just basically wonderful. He must have gone on about her for several minutes while the jeweler nodded patiently before he finally wound down, a bit sheepish over his exuberance.

Mr. Plimsky had delved beneath the counter for some ink and parchment the moment Ron finished talking, immediately scribbling out a series of designs. The sketches were absolute works of art in and of themselves, seeming to glimmer on the page as though they were already imbued with shining stones and metal. There was definitely some kind of magic to it, something within Mr. Plimsky himself which shone through his work.

Ron had fixated on the sketch of a bracelet, slim and delicately worked, though covered in tiny detail. He and Mr. Plimsky had then spent another hour working and reworking the design until Ron felt that it was as close to perfect as he could manage.

Now, it was time to see the design in the flesh, as it were, and he was a little apprehensive. What if it was different than how he had imagined it? What of it was too much or too little? What if…

Mr. Plimsky cleared his throat, his sharp eyes prodding Ron into opening the box after several moments of running his fingertips over the smoothly carved surface.

It was…

The silver colored metal shone brighter than goblin-made gold, a derivative of platinum that Mr. Plimsky had invented himself in the lab beneath his store. Each tiny link was worked in exquisite detail into a graceful rope of leaves. Spaced evenly among these leaves were twenty glittering blue stones, formed into dainty flowers.

It was exactly as he had imagined, and his hands were nearly shaking as he lifted it from the velvet-lined box. It seemed to tingle pleasantly against his skin, some kind of magic humming softly from within the metal itself. His large calloused hands looked ridiculous beneath the beautiful bracelet, but it would be stunning around Hermione's little feminine wrist.

He looked up at the jeweler, finding a smile just beginning to spread across the old man's face.

"Do you find it adequate, then, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron nodded almost violently.

"It's bloody brilliant, man!"

Mr. Plimsky's voice rasped with laughter.

"Well, that is indeed a ringing endorsement."

Ron had to suppress the urge to leap over the counter and hug the jeweler until he suffocated to death. He set the bracelet carefully back within the case before removing his rucksack, extracting the bag of gold he had just recently cleared out of his vault at Gringotts.

He set the bag on the counter, looking expectantly at Mr. Plimsky as he took the bag and opened it to inspect the contents.

The frown on his face made Ron's stomach plunge all the way to his toes.

"What's wrong? Is it…it isn't enough?"

The horrible possibility made his blood run cold as he waited, his entire body tense as Mr. Plimsky closed the bag, dropping it onto the counter with a metallic clink.

"I'm afraid not."

Ron wanted to cry. He had thought that the price had been solidly worked out the day he had commissioned the bracelet. He had been saving for months for Hermione's birthday, and the only gold he had left over was set aside to take her out to dinner at a fancy Muggle restaurant she had told him about.

"How much?"

His words were clipped, but it was all he could do not to throw himself in the nearest river. He had been planning this day for weeks, months even, and now it looked like everything would be ruined because once again, Ron Weasley had come up short.

Mr. Plimsky looked apologetic as he rubbed his chin with bony fingers.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Weasley."

Ron tried to squash the cruel leap of hope in his chest at the words, sure that one more disappointment would crush him entirely.

"This was a very…special commission. I can't divulge trade secrets, but you were key in the formation of these materials and design."

Ron nodded briskly, wondering where the batty old man was going with this and realizing that his urge to hug the man to death had morphed into a wild desire to strangle him.

"The magic involved is quite…complex, and some extremely valuable stores in my workroom have been significantly depleted in the creation of this object."

Ron wished that he had insisted on a normal metal instead of the spectacular magical concoction Mr. Plimsky had invented.

"What I'm trying to say is that I need you to pay for the bulk of your purchase not in gold, but in magic."

Ron was flabbergasted.

"I-Magic! How? Do you mean you need me to do some security work or something, because my Auror training is still in the early stages and-"

"No, no, nothing like that. You see, the key ingredient in this material is, to put it in the simplest terms, pure love. The only way to get metal to shine in just this manner requires an exact composition of devotion, adoration, and desire. As you can imagine, such valuable and rare resources are quite difficult to come by. What I need from you, in exchange for this object, is a memory."

Ron didn't know what to say.

He was simultaneously relieved and horrified. A…memory?

"What kind of memory?"

Mr. Plimsky's eyes glittered behind his spectacles as he framed the wooden box containing Hermione's bracelet with his withered hands.

"Something potent, something more than sufficient to fuel a Patronus, for example. Something to do with your young lady and your rather magnificent feelings for her."

Ron swallowed, suddenly uneasy.

"Will I-will I get it back?"

Mr. Plimsky shook his head slowly, true regret suffusing his wrinkled face.

"Unfortunately, no. I have not yet devised a way to extract the emotion from a memory without depleting the memory itself. Whatever you choose to give me will be forever lost to you."

Anger burned through Ron's body.

"And just why the fuck didn't you tell me this when I commissioned the bloody thing?"

The jeweler shrugged apologetically.

"I am truly sorry. When you came into my shop with your eyes filled with such brightly gleaming stars, my magic was called more strongly than it has been in decades. This object, this bracelet of your heart's design, is forged quite literally with the strength of your love. I think that you will find, in your case, that this renders the object unbreakable."

He sighed, seeming to grow older before Ron's eyes.

"However, in making this object, my own magic has been nearly exhausted and I am afraid that I cannot continue without resupplying my stores. I will require that memory from you before you can retrieve your bracelet."

Ron paced angrily across the tiny shop, barely resisting the urge to break the glass cases lining the walls. He felt betrayed somehow. He had grown to like and respect Mr. Plimsky, feeling such a lucky bloke that the kind old man had taken pity on him and offered such ready assistance. Now he knew himself to be a fool. Nothing as fantastic as that bracelet ever came cheap or easy.

A memory. A memory of Hermione. How could he ever…how could he part with even one of those? His memories of the most brilliant and beautiful witch in all bloody creation were the most precious and treasured moments in all of his not-exactly-brilliant life.

The first kiss, on his cheek only recently grown slightly fuzzy with the light stubble he was so proud to hold over the still-smooth-cheeked Harry Potter. A kiss for luck, burning through his being with new and terrifying meaning as he watched her walk away…

Their first dance, awkward and nervous and utter bliss, her sweet-smelling hair beneath his chin, her tiny waist burning beneath his sweating palm, her eyes shining with so many things he couldn't even…

The feeling of her soft hand tucked inside of his as they shared their fear and faith and unspoken love, pushing back their feelings for the good of the entire world…

Her beautiful eyes opening to look at him, as sharp and brilliant as ever even after unspeakable torture…

That first real kiss, basilisk fangs clattering to the floor as she leaped at him, her small body pressed to his for the very first time as his heart exploded with the rapture of her touch and scent and taste and finally, FINALLY!

…No. None of these early memories would do. He would rather die than part with them, he felt hollow in his chest as he considered still more cherished moments in his life that could be sacrificed in order to give her this one perfect day, this perfect gift.

It would have to be something more recent, then. Something taken from those few stolen moments spent alone together during the summer after the war, the journey to Australia, that last bloody unbearable year apart while she finished up at Hogwarts.

He continued pacing, drawing to an angry stop before the floor-length glass case pressed up against the furthest wall. A finely wrought gold necklace caught his attention, the central image of a branching tree flowering with tiny green jewels gleaming out at him. He paused for a moment, staring into the case as a steely sense of resolve washed over him.

Whirling quickly, he stalked over to the counter where Mr. Plimsky stood watching him warily with his strange metallic eyes. He leaned forward, flattening his palms on the polished glass surface as he spoke, both eyes and voice as hard as dragon scales, unknowingly reflecting the effectiveness of his Auror training.

"Right, then. Get on with it."

He held perfectly still, watching with silent apprehension as the old man extended his wand to rest lightly against Ron's left temple. He closed his eyes as he felt the cold burn of magic emanating from the tip, pulling out one of the shining threads that had woven the tapestry of his soul.

…

It turned out that roses were as much a pain in the arse variety of plant life as the bloody whomping willow. Ron didn't have a clue why birds went mental over the damn things, they were stupid and pointy and, as he had discovered just moments ago, far too delicate for the touch of a grown man.

He sat on his freshly made bed, leaning over a wooden salad bowl he had pinched from George's kitchen earlier in the week. Thus far, the bowl contained little more than a handful of bruised and mangled petals and more than a few drops of his blood.

The plan had been simple enough. Two dozen roses, one to present to Hermione when she answered her door, and another to decorate his bedroom with rose petals. He had gotten the idea from one of Ginny's magazines. He hadn't been reading it or anything, just sort of…skimming to relieve the agony of waiting for his best mate to finish snogging his sister so they could finally grab a pint.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, brilliant even. Now, looking down at his sad pile of crushed rose petals, it was obviously complete rubbish.

He sighed deeply, redoubling his efforts as he carefully removed the petals one at a time until his sad little pile grew slowly more respectable. Eventually he had a bowl of only slightly damaged rose petals ready for strewing across his bed. He shot up with relief, stretching his tired arms before flattening out his bedspread and flinging the petals in what he hoped was a romantic pattern. The end result looked more like a rosebush had lost an epic battle with a garden gnome than anything else. It certainly bore little resemblance to the picture he had seen in the magazine.

The more time ran away from him, the looser he got with his definition of perfection. His vow to make this birthday an absolutely perfect one for Hermione had grown a few addendums as the hours passed.

Perfect within the considerable limitations of his means and abilities was the current definition, which gave him quite a lot of wiggle room, really.

He glanced at the clock, leaping into action as he realized just how late it was getting.

The warm water of the shower stung a bit in the army of pricks and cuts sprinkled across his palms, and he made a mental note to cast a healing spell before getting dressed. He leaned his head back against the cool tile, letting the water stream down his chest as he gathered his thoughts.

Twenty. It was a rather nice number, actually. Rounded out at the end, as perfectly joined together as it was divisible. Like Hermione herself, it was a beautiful whole constructed out of many complex parts.

He finished washing up, actually running a comb through his damp hair after rubbing it with a towel, a concession to vanity only made on very special occasions. Like Hermione's twentieth birthday, the first birthday he had her all to himself, for the entire night.

He tried to control his growing excitement as he buttoned down his crisp white shirt, throwing the necktie he had filched from George's closet around his neck. George's flat above the shop had proven the perfect borrowing library for all sorts of items Ron would never have thought of buying for himself. As long as he returned things in approximately the same area as he had taken them from, George never turned a hair.

The necktie proved a bit more difficult than he had imagined. The knot he had made resembled nothing so much as a lumpy croissant, with two wrinkled tails dangling in abject defeat. Giving it up for a bad job, he ripped the damn thing off, flinging it in a corner of his closet as he threw on a muggle jacket Harry had helped him pick out for special occasions. The thin navy wool looked smart enough without a tie, he supposed.

He wondered what Hermione would be wearing. Visions of slinky little nothings danced in his head before immediately being pushed aside by more realistic expectations of a modest skirt and blouse. If he was lucky, she would leave the top few buttons open so he could stare at the little vee of creamy flesh during dinner.

Giving his mangled rose patterned bed another once-over, he hurried out of the flat, Apparating to the front stoop of Hermione's building.

She had chosen the tiny flat for its proximity to the Ministry and her shiny new job within those hallowed hallways. Ron held secret hopes of convincing her to move in with him to his flat near Diagon Alley. It was larger than hers, though older and perhaps a bit dingier. Frankly, he didn't give too much of a damn where they lived as long as he could wake up next to her every morning, choking on her wild hair and tangled in her arms.

She buzzed him up, and he took the stairs three at a time, his long legs eating up the distance to her door in as little time as possible.

He raised his hand to knock, only to discover that she had left it open, the light from her minuscule kitchen shining through the crack.

Panic seized his chest as he shoved the door open the rest of the way, throwing down the roses and drawing his wand as he assessed the situation. The soft off key whistling from her bedroom turned his panic into anger as he realized that she had left the door ajar on purpose.

He shoved his wand back into his trousers, stalking to her bedroom door and flinging it open, Hermione turning to look at him over her shoulder in surprise. Her hair had been twisted into heavy braids and she was busy pinning them into a complicated knot at the back of her head.

His tirade on safety precautions died in his throat as he looked at her. She was…just…_so fucking beautiful_.

Shoving what appeared to be the last of a thousand pins into her hair, she stood to face him, his mouth hanging open as he ran his gaze slowly over her body, the light in his eyes shining on her exposed skin like the sun rising through a window, gradually illuminating every stunning detail.

She smoothed her palms over the skirt of her little red dress, pushing the fabric down a few inches before it sprang back up to – he swallowed thickly- the middle of her thighs.

Her eyes were shy on his as she watched for his reaction, nibbling on her full lower lip.

She moved her hands in a jerky pattern, a telltale sign that she was forming a nervous explanation.

"Do you like it? I-Ginny helped me. Buy it. At a store. Well, a dressmaker's boutique, to be specific, which is really not a store at all but rather more of a showcase and workshop combined into-"

"Hermione."

He stopped her rambling with both hands on her – thank sweet fucking Merlin – bare shoulders. He rubbed his thumbs in tiny circles, reveling in the softness of her skin as he stared down into her face.

"It's brilliant. You're brilliant. You look great."

She smiled brightly, the sparkle in her brown eyes far outshining the shimmer of makeup she had lightly applied to her eyelids. He shook his head, offering a self-deprecating smile in return.

"Wait, shit, let me try again. I-what I mean is, you look beautiful. Better than great."

This time her smile spread from ear to ear, the nervousness in her face instantly replaced by that impossibly wonderful expression she reserved only for him. Pressing forward, she just barely brushed her breasts against his chest, her smile turning wicked as he gulped down air like a fish out of water.

She turned and-and-and actually fucking _wiggled_ over to her dressing table to grab her handbag, the wonderfully wicked smile growing on her face as he followed her with hungry eyes.

"Shall we? I believe our reservation is in a quarter hour."

He picked his jaw up off of the floor and followed her, blushing and stammering as he scooped the bouquet of roses from her hallway rug, offering the poor abused things with sheepish hands. She accepted them as gracefully as if they had been sitting in a crystal vase, kissing him sweetly on his cheek before disappearing into her kitchen to deposit them somewhere safe.

…

Ron was sure that this beef dish with the poncy French name was unbelievably delicious, but he really couldn't be bothered to concentrate on that when the sight before him was more delicious than anything the greatest French chef had ever put on a plate.

Hermione slid a heaping spoonful of frothy white foam into her mouth, closing her eyes as she moaned in ecstasy.

Ron had been skeptical when the waiter had placed a dish that looked like fish topped with whipping cream in front of her, but Hermione had assured him that it wasn't sweet at all, but rather a tangy lemon mousse.

Whatever it was, it was damn distracting to watch her eat it.

He shifted in his chair, rearranging his napkin once again to try and cover up the reason for his discomfort.

He found himself staring at the glorious expanse of skin made visible by the minuscule straps of her dress. There was just…there was no bloody way she was wearing a bra under that thing. The very idea that she might be sitting here across from him with nothing on underneath her dress other than a pair of knickers made his trousers grow far too small for comfort.

He could barely make himself eat his dinner, he was so obsessed with the thought of taking her back to his place to further destroy all of those rose petals.

"…don't you think, Ron?"

His head snapped up, his eyes widening as he realized that she had been speaking to him. He nodded, hoping to cover up the fact that he hadn't been listening because he was too busy thinking about her naked body writhing beneath him on his bed.

"I knew you would agree with me. Harry has done quite a lot of work on Ministry reforms, and Minister Kingsley has been immeasurably helpful, but I just think that it is far past time for action to be taken on every level. It shouldn't take more than a week at most, and I'm sure that I'll be back before you know it."

Shite.

What had he nodded himself into? The familiar stabbing sensation of panic hit his chest at the thought of her leaving for an entire week. It seemed that she had just gotten out of school, and now she was skipping off somewhere!

"A-a week!"

She nodded, dabbing her lips softly with her napkin before leaning in and speaking quietly.

"Yes, well, I am sure you realize just how pressing these things can be and the Minister is afraid that anything less than immediate intervention would result in disaster. He has assured me that once we have presented my proposition before the Council, I will be free to leave."

She looked down at the tablecloth for a moment before sliding her hand toward him, raising her eyes in invitation. He covered her hand with his own, perhaps holding on just a bit too tightly as she continued.

"I just felt that…well, I didn't want to be gone for long after all of the time we've spent apart this past year. I know that it's awfully selfish of me, but I want to spend every moment I can with you."

His heart was beating so loudly that he was sure it echoed throughout the tiny restaurant, deafening as it bounced off of the tastefully decorated walls.

He lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss into her knuckles as he watched her face.

"Every moment."

He wasn't sure why he was whispering, but the quality of light in her eyes changed immediately, beginning to smolder beneath the shine.

She licked her lips, squeezing his hand and leaning in even closer.

"Would you like to get out of here?"

He froze for a few seconds, not trusting his good fortune. Could she mean…

She blushed, sitting back in her chair as she released his hand and dropped hers into her lap, fidgeting with her napkin without quite meeting his eye.

"Of course you wouldn't, how silly of me. You haven't finished eating, and-"

She broke off as he turned in his seat, gesturing wildly for the check.

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**Thanks for reviewing!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's the last part of your fic, urbanmama1! *smooches*_

_I own nothing Harry Potter._

_Thanks again to tristelamar_23 for being awesome!  
_

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The door clicked shut behind him mere seconds before he crashed against the wall, pinned there by delicate hands shockingly strong in their insistence.

She was practically climbing him like a bloody tree, her high heels scraping against his trouser leg as she fought to reach his lips. He grinned, scooping her up against him, his hands nearly spanning her waist as he lifted her from the floor.

Brilliant.

She was brilliant, unbelievable, absolutely-Fuck!

Her fingers dug into his shoulder as she raised her thighs to wrap around his hips, her mouth opening beneath his to suck gently on his tongue.

He started walking immediately, carrying her to the bedroom as she licked and nibbled on his jaw, rubbing herself against him. He moaned softly as she pressed her teeth lightly into his throat. Perhaps it was a good thing he had been defeated by that bloody necktie...

He stumbled into the bedroom, nearly throwing her down on the mattress before tossing his jacket to the floor and pulling his shirt off over his head, not bothering with the many buttons down the front. He took a step toward her, ready to pounce, but she was sitting up now, looking around with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

There was something small and timid in her voice when she called his name.

"...Ron?"

He released a loud breath, trying to calm down enough to form words again. His voice was rough, embarrassingly thick with need when he answered.

"Yeah?"

She ran her hand over the bedspread, lifting something between her fingers to examine closely.

"I...can't believe you did this."

Shit, what had he done? He had planned _everything_, what had gone wrong? He was-Oh!

"You mean the, uh, rose petals, yeah?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes beginning to glisten with a dangerous hint of wetness.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, something in his chest pulling him another faltering step closer to her like a line had been strung tight between them.

"I, uh...I sorta read about it. The petals thing. I guess I thought that you might-that you'd like it if I did something like that."

Hermione's eyes were most definitely damp now as they searched his face with nearly feverish intensity, her body held perfectly motionless with her fingers still cradling a single rose petal. Her voice was steady, though still strangely small as if she were speaking from some distance away.

"You read about it."

He dipped his head in a very slight nod, hoping that she wouldn't ask him just where he had read about such a thing. He wasn't sure that his ego could sustain the blow to his masculinity of admitting that he had pilfered the idea from a women's magazine. She continued, not seeming to notice his discomfort.

"And you thought that I would _like_ it?"

His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the emphasis she placed on the word like. He was such a berk, of course a brilliant witch like Hermione would be above such cheap displays. He suppressed the urge to hang his head, his arms crossing over his chest as he suddenly felt his nakedness.  
Hermione seemed to be talking to herself now, looking down at the rose petal in her hand as she rubbed it between her fingers. Ron found himself mesmerized by the rhythmic motion of those graceful digits.

"Rose petals. You read about rose petals and then you...because you thought..."

Ron wished that he had a Time Turner so he could go back and stop himself from flinging dead bits of plant all over his bed in such a demented manner. In fact, while he was at it, he could-

"Oof!"

He tumbled forward onto the bed as nimble little fingers hooked under his belt buckle and tugged forcefully, setting him off-balance. His arms shot out to catch himself before he crushed Hermione beneath him, palms landing flat on either side of her head, rose petals flying everywhere like a flurry of snow around them.

Her eyes caught his, trapping his gaze in an impenetrable cage of flaming desire. His very breath deserted him, the air in his lungs burned away under the heat of her stare.

Tears drifted slowly down her cheeks, sparkling on her skin as they lay frozen for a moment.

The atmosphere seemed to crackle an instant before she arched up beneath him, her hand clamping around the base of his neck to pull him down to her. Her lips were hot and frantic on his, attacking with a ferocity that sent a primal thrill down his spine.

He clambered the rest of the way on to the mattress, yanking her up under him with one arm around her waist so that they never had to break apart, his knees throwing hers open with an aggressive nudge.

She raised her knees, digging her heels into the mattress as she pressed hard against him. His hands slid down the silken length of her legs, pushing her shoes off before she impaled him with them, growling low in his throat as she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, biting playfully.

Fuck, he loved it when she got like this. Absolutely, achingly, desperately _loved_ it.

No one ever got Hermione to completely lose control. No one but _him_.

An intense wave of possession washed over him, his long fingers wrapping loosely about her wrists, dragging her hands up over her head. The immediate flash in her eyes told him he was on the right track.

She left her hands where he had placed them as he trailed the back of his knuckles slowly down the side of her face and throat, her compliance filling him with purely masculine satisfaction.

He raised himself up on one elbow, turning his hand to gently cup her breast as he continued his tour of her body. His groin tightened as he discovered that he had been correct earlier, there was nothing but woman underneath this dress. It was a damn good thing his musings had not been confirmed until they got back to his flat or he would have taken her right there at the restaurant, plates of fancy french cuisine sent flying as he bent her over the spotless linen tablecloth.

His hand grew increasingly rough on her soft flesh at the thought of it, squeezing and rolling her tightly budded nipple between his fingertips through the thin layers of material. She caught her breath, her hands coming down on his shoulders as she pressed into his grasp, her lips finding his once more.

He hooked his fingers under one of the ridiculous little straps of her dress, dragging it carefully down her shoulder, afraid that it would break in his big clumsy hands. He wanted her to wear this dress again. Again, and again, and again. Merlin knew she would be wearing it in his dreams for years to come. Well, she would be wearing it very briefly in his dreams, as she inevitably wound up completely starkers.

A state which would be entirely appropriate to their current situation, actually. He nobly resolved to help her achieve that state as quickly as possible.

He was a little less careful with the other strap but thankfully it survived as he shoved it down her arm, pulling on the top of her dress until her breasts were exposed, pausing for a moment at the feel of them pressing against his naked chest with every breath before he grabbed a fistful of the slinky red fabric, tugging hard until it caught around her hips.

She broke away, laughter coloring her voice as she twisted her body, turning her hips to the side to reach behind her. Ron was immediately distracted by the way this unusual position thrust her breasts into his face.

"Ron-wait! There's a zip in the back, just let me-oh!"

He flicked his eyes up to her face as he continued to explore her breasts with his mouth, something raw and wonderful roaring through his being as she watched him with wide eyes, her lips gently parted as her breathing grew ragged.

The dress slid easily down her hips now as he pushed it to the floor, lifting her in his arms just as easily to deposit her higher on the bed, leaving room for him to lick and nibble his way down the gentle curve of her stomach.

She made a tiny noise as he reached the lace band of her knickers, her hand coming down to rest on his head, slightly tremulous fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes.

There was a single rose petal just to the side of her navel and he blew it away noisily, earning surprised laughter that made her body jiggle hypnotically as she smiled down at him.

He lowered his eyes back to her knickers, his lips kicking up on one side as he considered them, letting his fingers trail lazy patterns on her hips.

Red.

Hermione had never, ever worn red knickers for him before. Black, white, all sorts of lovely bright and pastel colors and patterns, but never _red_. Red was almost...premeditated. It was somehow comforting, gratifying, even, to know that as much as he had been planning for this night, she had been planning too. He looked up at her, smirking appreciatively.

"Red knickers? A bloke could get ideas, Hermione."

She blushed all the way down to her chest, a blush belied by the answering grin on her face.

"They coordinated with the dress. I'm quite certain that the dress code at Coq d'Argent requires perfectly coordinating knickers. Anything less would have been in bad taste."

He nodded distractedly, words escaping him as he examined her tastefully coordinating knickers. Her fingers tightened in his hair as she sensed his renewed intensity, playfulness swept away in the blaze.

He traced the delicate lace waistband with one calloused fingertip, resting his painstakingly close-shaven cheek against her thigh as he watched her stomach quiver in reaction. He had decided long ago, sometime before he had ever gotten to see Hermione's knickers but sometime after he had gotten to taste her skin, to feel her pressed tightly against him; that Hermione's body, each individually perfect piece wrapped into this gorgeous whole, was his own personal shrine. His own body, imperfect parts strung together into a ridiculous lanky whole, was simply the instrument he used to worship.

He sat up on his knees, removing her knickers carefully to drop them on the floor, another clothing item he wanted to save for future viewing...and removing.

Lowering himself back to his former position, he urged her legs to open for him with gentle hands, rubbing his cheek against her thigh as she slowly bent her knees, both hands now running through his hair, her fingers fluttering over his face.

He kissed each of her thighs softly before lowering his head between her legs and beginning to worship in earnest.

Her soft cries drove him on, whipping him into a frenzy along with her as they rode the storm together. This was one of his most favorite parts of _them_, of what they were together. The intimacy of this, the trust and love and pure animalistic joy. The scent and taste and silken give of her beneath his lips filled his soul with something so great, so colossal and magnificent that he sometimes felt like he may burst with it.

Her body began to shake as she rose up tight against him, chanting his name like she may be worshipping along with him, her hands pulling his hair as he felt the storm break.

He kissed his way up her body, writhing beneath him as she ran her mouth and hands over any bits of his skin available to her, her clever fingers making quick work of his trousers before she shoved them down his legs with her tiny feet, tangling their limbs together in a beautiful jumble.

He barely had time to rasp his love for her against the sweat-slicked skin of her forehead before she was tilting her hips, melding their bodies together and drowning him in that love.

Sinking into her was like nothing else. It was like home and heaven and sunlight and laughter and yet it was none of these things. It was just, it was...

Perfection.

…

Ron opened his eyes lazily, looking down at the hilarious mass of curls overflowing his chest. Hermione was muttering quietly to herself, tugging at the sheet Ron had managed to twist tightly around himself in his sleep.

He grinned, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction.

"Oi, what exactly d'you think you're doing there, woman?"

She tossed her hair out of her face, making him laugh as mangled rose petals flew in every direction.

"I'm _trying_ to open my birthday present!"

Ron shot up like a rocket, knocking her over onto her back with a cloud of falling rose petals and a loud squeak of indignation. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he dropped to the floor to search for his jacket, growling a continuous stream of increasingly vicious curses.

How the almighty _fuck_ had he forgotten? He was such a-he didn't even have a word in his rather extensively brutal vocabulary for what he was. His fingers closed around a rectangular object wrapped in shiny paper tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket.

He stood, glancing at the clock beside his bed. Well thank Merlin that it was still her birthday, at least. Ron would not have been surprised to discover that he had managed to sleep through it. Unbelievably angry with himself, but not terribly surprised.

He turned to face the bed, unconcerned for his own nakedness as he appreciated Hermione's. She had half-heartedly pulled the sheet up around her, but it dipped down to her waist on one side, leaving one perfect breast exposed. His heart thumped harder just from seeing her sitting there in all of her glory, decorated in crushed rose petals and wild hair.

He slid back onto the bed, sitting across from her as he held out his gift as casually as he could manage.

This was not how he had planned it. He was going to give it to her after they ordered dessert at the restaurant, but then she had ordered that weird mousse cream stuff and...well.

She lifted the package with both hands, seeming to weigh it for a moment while looking at him quizzically. Ho loved to watch her open presents. She was like a little detective, examining it for clues before carefully unveiling what lay inside. Ron took a more tornado-like approach to opening gifts, ripping gleefully at the paper until his present lay exposed in the wreckage. Hermione untied the thin satin ribbon that had been only slightly crushed in his pocket, carefully unfolding the paper without making a single tear.

Ron's heart was definitely beating faster now. His eyes flickered between her face and hands, not wanting to miss a moment of her reaction. He was almost praying, hoping that it was something she wanted, that it was perfect.

She paused when the paper revealed the wooden presentation box, her eyes shooting up to his as a smile bloomed across her face. Lifting the box from the paper, she examined it from every angle, tracing her fingertips over the carving. After a few moments she placed it in her lap, leaning forward to pull him into her arms, smiling against his shoulder.

"It's lovely, Ron! Where on earth did you-"

Ron set his hands on her shoulders, pushing her gently away. She quieted immediately, her eyes questioning him. He picked up the box, holding it out to her insistently.

"No. I... it's not-open it."

She took it back with a grin, opening the box with an exaggerated flourish. Hermione went completely still as she stared into the box, the grin slowly fading from her face. Ron went still as well, anxiety and anticipation burning along his skin in dueling trails of fire. She opened her mouth like she was going to speak, but then she only looked at him. Ron shifted nervously, beginning to worry about his heart, all of this mad thumping had to be bad for it or something.

She looked back down at the box, wrinkling her forehead before looking back at him, opening her mouth a few more times for good measure. He couldn't take it anymore, words violently bursting from his mouth like a mighty sneeze.

"_Doyoulikeit_?"

She looked back down into the box, blinking hard as she reached one hand to hover over the bracelet, almost as if she was afraid to touch it. Her head shot up to stare at him, her eyes burning into his, seeming to search for something important.

"I-do I...Oh, _Ron_."

She lunged at him, her gift falling from her lap as she twined her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as she peppered him with kisses. His heart gave one last thump of relief before settling into a healthier pattern as he continued to set her away from him, laughing as she scrambled to hug him again, climbing into his lap and wrapping her legs around his waist when he tried to sit her back across from him.

"Hermione-oof, watch your knee-Hermione, love, you haven't even tried it on yet!"

She pulled back to look at him like he was a bloody genius or something, scrambling to get back to her abandoned gift, her chaotic motions offering him an intensely wonderful view of her arse as she bounced across the bed.

She picked up the box and brought it to him, thrusting it into his hands before looking at him expectantly.

He just stared back at her until she rolled her eyes playfully and held out her wrist, one eyebrow arched at him pointedly.

He grinned, lifting the delicate bracelet from the box and clasping it about her wrist, going still as he felt something enormous rush through him the moment it made contact with her skin. His grin fell away as he met her eyes, wide now and pinned to his face.

"Ron, did you-did you feel that?"

He swallowed, nodding slowly. The rush had left a pleasant warm feeling throughout his body, but he was slightly uneasy. There was something...oddly familiar about the sensation, almost like he had felt it before, in another time and another place. Something flashed in his mind, a fleeting impression of laughter and Hermione's ankles running through tall grass...and then nothing. He couldn't...it was just out of his grasp...

Hermione examined the bracelet.

"It's magical, isn't it?"

He nodded, but she continued without looking at him.

"It isn't goblin-made...there are no enchantments that I can detect...it feels like...it feels like old magic, powerful...Ron, what-?"

He lifted her wrist to his face, kissing her skin just below the bracelet.

"No enchantments. It's the metal. The man who made it has a special process that, um, that infuses the metal with...magic. Good magic."

Hermione turned her wrist slowly back and forth, watching the light sparkle on the stones and glimmer across the intricately worked metal. Her eyes lifted back to his.

"They match."

He looked at her oddly, knowing his confusion had to be written across his face. She gestured with her wrist, lifting the bracelet close to his face as her eyes darted between them.

"The stones. They match your eyes...flawlessly. How did you-?"

Ron felt a bit bemused, shrugging slightly as he took a closer look at the stones.

"Do they really? I hadn't noticed, actually. Mr. Plimsky chose the stones and-"

Her head shot up like she had been hit by a stinging curse.

"Ron, did you say Mr. Plimsky?"

Her voice was calm, but he could sense that his answer was very important to her. He nodded slowly, watching in horror as her face drained of color. She stared at the bracelet again, seeming to search it for answers before looking back up at him.

"That's impossible."

Ron shook his head in bewilderment.

"I found his shop a few months ago and he helped me out. He even let me have a say in designing your bracelet."

Now she shook her head, speaking slowly and carefully.

"No, Ron. Artemesius Plimsky disappeared a long time ago, before the first War. He was very well known. In fact, he is considered to be one of the greatest magimetalworkers of all time. He wrote the definitive text "Magical Metallurgy Theory and Application" fifty years ago and then he just...vanished."

Ron felt a chill run down his spine, and he pulled the bedspread across his lap.

"No, I swear. I was just at his shop this morning. It's off Diagon Alley, kind of pinched in the space between two buildings."

Hermione didn't seem to hear him, twisting the bracelet around and around her wrist as those mighty gears turned in her head.

"Ron, you said that the man who-that Mr. Plimsky had made this out of magically infused metal...do you mean- he didn't mention Memenamaturgy, did he?"

Ron tried to wrap his tongue around the phrase she had so easily rattled off, finding it not nearly long enough to go all the way around the strange word.

"No. He just said something about trade secrets."

Hermione ran her finger over the bracelet, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

"When I touch this bracelet, I feel..."

She opened her eyes, spearing him with her gaze.

"I feel love, Ron. I feel _you._"

He reached out to rest his hand on her knee, tracing circles on her soft skin.

"That's … good, isn't it?"

He tried to sound sure, but he knew that the rising note of hope in his voice betrayed him.

She nodded solemnly, her fingers tracing the bracelet over and over again as she stared into his face.

"This magic … it has to be Memenamaturgy. But that's … utterly impossible. It was only a theory he was working on before he disappeared, a perfect fusion of metal and strong positive emotion extracted from-"

Her breath hissed between her teeth as her eyes darted across his face, obviously searching for something. Whatever she was looking for, he was sure that she would find it. She was amazing like that. She leaned forward, her eyes still searching as she rested a delicate hand on his chest.

"Ron, is there anything you would like to tell me? Perhaps something about the manner in which you paid for this bracelet...?"

Ron drew back from her touch, unable to avoid taking offense at her words. He was still sensitive when it came to money, a small part of him terrified that he would never be able to provide her with everything she needed and wanted and more, no matter how hard he tried.

He looked away from her, fisting a bit of the sheet in his hand.

"I bloody well paid for it, if that's what you're asking. I didn't steal the fucking thi-"

"No! No, I wasn't-I know that you would never...Ron. Look at me, please."

His head was turning before he could even think about it, his body as ever a slave to her wishes. It even went so far as to shiver in delight as she pressed her hands to his cheeks, her eyes diving into his.

"Of course you didn't steal it, I know you better than that. I was only asking if Mr. Plimsky required anything more … _unusual_ in the form of payment."

Ron creased his brow, his mind suddenly growing fuzzy about the edges as he tried to remember... it was like that part of the morning had been packed away in cotton wool, kept concealed and separate from the rest of his memory. He could remember leaving Wheezes to pick up his package, bag of gold in his jacket pocket... then there was a strange swirling void and he was walking out again, one bag of gold lighter, Hermione's present tucked carefully against his chest.

He shook his head slowly, watching her eyes grow unaccountably sad as she read the vague confusion on his face.

"No. Nothing unusual. Why?"

She studied the bracelet with renewed interest, closing her eyes as she stroked the metal once again.

When her eyes lifted back to his, he was baffled to see tears shining there. She traced her fingers over his forehead, lifting his fringe away from his face. He lifted an eyebrow as she began to mutter quietly to herself, almost too softly for him to hear.

"...you would. Of course you would, there is nothing you wouldn't...I just can't believe...for me."

He twisted his lips to the side in confusion, screwing up his face until she laughed. That sound, the gasping, surprised, throaty sound of Hermione's laughter trickled through him, warming the hidden reaches of his soul. That was what this whole thing had been about, after all. Making her happy.

His witch. On her birthday.

He held both of her hands against his cheeks, twisting to kiss each one in turn. She made an odd sound, almost like a sob packaged in laughter. She whispered his name, leaning in for a long kiss that grew deeper and more dangerous with each passing second. She was pulling him under the surface once more, into their own private world. He found himself glorying in his defeat.

They rolled together until she lay on top of him, her eyes fixed firmly to his face.

"I love you."

His face split into a wide, slow grin, his hands silently appreciating her soft skin.

"So I've heard. Nasty habit, that."

She smiled back at him, the last traces of sadness finally banished from her eyes. He lifted his head from the pillow, nipping at the tip of her nose.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione."

Her lips fell on his like a sudden rain, the essence of her spreading through him from that single point of contact with stunning alacrity. She seemed to be putting extra effort into pouring herself into him, her small hands grasping at him with an edge of desperation.

That edge proved to be utterly contagious and soon he was gasping and surging beneath her as she slid against him, onto him, joining their frantic desperation into a single writhing entity.

Words flowed between them in crashing waves, disconnected yet all together weaving a magnificent message that passed between them equally.

_"I love you" … "Always" … "Mine" … "Beautiful"..._

He ran his hand down her arm, gasping as he hit the ring of metal on her wrist, the rush from before bursting into liquid flame, burning away the cotton wool in his mind.

A memory. He had given a memory for her, for this. But then … how could he... ?

He remembered. Everything. He remembered the tree pendant in the glass case, the way it had triggered a memory of summer moments hiding from his family. He remembered the exact moment he had chosen, chasing Hermione through the grass and trees as she laughed with utter abandon, her wild hair streaming behind her like a fairy queen. She had let him catch her deliberately, swinging her through the air before they both collapsed to the ground, lost in each other's eyes.

He met her eyes now, her body still and quiet on his. There were tears drifting down her cheeks as she gazed into his face, her lips moving before she managed to speak.

"You-I saw...Ron, tell me that was real. What just happened, between us."

He nodded, watching the familiar light of fascinated discovery suffuse her gorgeous face, lighting her up faster than his Deluminator had ever lit a room.

She sat back on him, ignoring his moan as he slid even deeper inside her. She lifted her arm, staring at her birthday present.

"I can't believe it. It was only a theory-experts everywhere agreed that it was completely impossible in practice. I mean, considering the inherent properties of -how did he ever manage to infuse the metal without depleting-"

Ron bit his lip, his hips twitching beneath hers with the urge to move.

"Hermione! For fucks sake, could you please do your research later, we're kind of in the middle of something, here."

She actually blushed, a lovely wash of pink covering her face and neck as she looked down at him in apology.

He rolled her beneath him, her focus now entirely on him as he started to move once more. They rose and fell together in a driving frenzy, words left behind now as they spoke instead with eyes and skin, the message remaining the same regardless.

He somehow managed to hold out until she shivered and flared beneath him, her explosion triggering his as he pressed himself deeper inside her, shuddering as she found his lips with hers.

Falling to the side, he gathered her tight against him, burrowing his face in her hopelessly tangled hair as he breathed her in.

He was a damn lucky man.

…

Hermione lifted her hand, holding her wrist closer under the light on her desk. For once the mountain of papers cluttering the surface were ignored in favor of more important considerations.

Ron had given her an amazing gift. Not because it was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but because of the meaning he had infused it with. Literally.

She had left early for work, stopping by the library to borrow every book that so much as mentioned Artemesius Plimsky and his wild theories.

It should have been impossible. All of it. Plimsky had not been sighted in decades, and even before that his theories had never been proven. She planned to ask Ron to take her to the little shop, but she would not be surprised to discover that it had vanished as though it had never existed. In fact, she would be more surprised to find it still there.

The most amazing part of all was Ron himself. For the process to even have the slightest chance of working, the emotion involved had to be so pure, so true that it rendered the entire process a near impossibility in its rarity alone.

The fact that it had worked meant … so much. She already knew, of course. Ron had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, but this kind of concrete affirmation... it was humbling.

Then there was the manner in which he had gotten it. She knew that Memenamaturgy required a memory, a strong and wonderful memory, much like the Patronus. Only, in theory, the memory would be entirely depleted and all but erased.

Ron must have known this, and yet he had still...

Well, she certainly wasn't surprised that he had made such a grand sacrifice on her behalf. She vividly remembered the willingness with which he sacrificed himself even as a young boy, sending himself across that giant chessboard without a second thought.

He was truly astonishing, far more astonishing than any magical theory or process, and she was honored and thrilled that _she_ was the one who got to discover him, over and over across the years.

The blue glimmer of stones made her smile softly, though the shining stone could never match the twinkle of his eyes.

She was a very lucky witch, indeed.

* * *

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